With a Little Help

by Valerie Parv

“You sure you’re not busy this morning?”

  “I am now.” Oh, Lord, what was she saying? There was only one way this could end and she wasn’t ready.

  Keeping his injured arm across her shoulders, he steered her around the table and into a hallway. On her first visit, she’d lost her way and ended up in a bedroom. A very masculine bedroom. She’d paused in the doorway, fascinated by the huge bed with a camel-and-chocolate suede covering and a hint of black satin beneath. Piano-black bedsides and a vast matching headboard loomed. A man’s room for a man’s pleasure.

  Voluminous café au lait drapes covered a floor-to-ceiling window. On another wall, a massive painting combined slashes of black, brown and cream, bringing the color scheme together. Instinctively she knew it was Nate’s bedroom and that was where he was taking her.

  Where he would take her if she agreed. “Nate, I don’t know…”

  “Your choice,” he said easily, although she heard an undercurrent of tension. “But I need you to tell me now.”

  Because later would be too late. For her, as well. She was already in over her head, wanting him, needing him to keep her from thinking too much. Afraid you’ll change your mind? More like come to her senses.

  For once she’d gone beyond the point where sense could help her. She simply wanted. And she suspected he knew.

  The bedroom was indeed the one she’d stumbled into. Her steps were far from steady, and his arm helped to keep her upright, although not for much longer.

  Releasing her, he swept the suede cover back, revealing the satin sheets. “What about your sprained arm?” she ventured, her voice a complicated croak.

  “I don’t need my arm to make love.”

  “You could worsen the injury.” She sounded like a mother hen, although it was the last thing she felt like. But she couldn’t help worrying. When had his welfare become such a priority?

  He turned to her and stroked a strand of hair away from her face. “We’ll improvise.”

  Before she could let her mind deal with that, she heard the sound of the kitchen door opening and closing. He frowned. “Joanna’s back.”

  Until now Emma had completely forgotten the housekeeper. Forgotten everything but how Nate made her feel. Joanna’s return pierced the fog in her mind.

  When he went to the door and started to close it, she followed and touched his arm. “No, don’t.”

  “Joanna’s worked for me for a long time. She’s considerate of my privacy.”

  He might be able to deal with the housekeeper’s presence but Emma wasn’t ready. “I can’t.” She had to force the words out, but knew immediately they were the right ones. Making love with Nate would be sublime. She already had enough evidence of that. She was torn between wishing Joanna hadn’t come home, and being glad her return had stopped Emma from doing something she was likely to regret later.

  She believed him when he said he respected her. And that he didn’t put himself on a pedestal because of his profession. None of that helped to make their different paths more compatible.

  Gramma Jessie had found a way. The thought was as insistent as it was unwelcome. Emma didn’t want to find a way with Nate. What about her plans and dreams? Gramma Jessie had written cookbooks. She hadn’t tried to run a business while being married to a doctor.

  Emma felt dazed, disoriented. How had she made the mental leap from sex to marriage? With Nate, things were moving too fast.

  He jerked the door fully open. “There will be a next time.”

  Emma felt safe nodding, knowing there couldn’t be a next time, although she wanted there to be. He was taking it for granted they’d continue this when his housekeeper wasn’t around. How could she, knowing all the reasons arguing against a deeper involvement with him? One close call was enough.

  A few more minutes and she’d have been naked in his bed. Improvising, he’d called it. Finding ways to make love to her that required only one arm. The very thought made her skin tingle.

  NATE WATCHED THE EMOTIONS play across Emma’s expressive face like scenes on a big screen. She’d never make a poker player. He read her desire, the willingness and then the concern at what she’d nearly allowed. He also saw her resolve strengthening. He could deal with that, too.

  Not because he always got his own way, as he feared Emma still believed. But because they would fit together as snugly as his hand inside a surgical glove.

  As he slipped his arm back into the sling, his body thrummed like a high-voltage electric wire. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman as much as he did her. Whether it suited her or not, she wanted him, too.

  He wanted to tell her how she affected him. Make her see that this wasn’t only about sex. He also needed to assure her he wasn’t interested in a lasting relationship any more than she was. But the words refused to leave his mouth.

  Was he more interested than he was telling himself? Seeing her in a role she’d made clear she didn’t want? He hadn’t wanted it himself until…Emma.

  Anger at himself took hold, freezing out the unwelcome emotions. “Probably just as well Joanna came home.”

  Her face twisted in confusion. “What?”

  “This is a bad idea.”

  “Wait a minute, you just said there’d be a next time.”

  “Do you want a next time, Emma?”

  Her exquisite eyes clouded. “Of course I don’t. Do you?”

  He fiddled with the sling until the knot felt more comfortable on his neck. Less like a noose. “We both know what we want from our lives, and this isn’t it.”

  “No, I…I suppose not.”

  The uncertainty in her tone gutted him. “Last year there was a woman in my life. Almost married her until my work came between us. Finding out before you do something stupid saves everyone a lot of grief.”

  EMMA FELT THE GROUND SHIFT under her feet. He thought getting involved with her was stupid. The turnaround played havoc with her emotions. One minute he was ready to make love to her, now he was letting her know he felt let off the hook.

  Hadn’t she thought the same thing seconds before?

  So it was all right for her to feel relieved, but hurtful when he did?

  Yes, damn it. She didn’t want him to be logical and sensible. He should be sweeping her off her feet and between those seductive black satin sheets.

  Saving her from having to make the decision. When had she become such a wimp?

  Fake it until you make it. She dragged her shoulders back. “You’re right, of course. This would have been a mistake.”

  If he recognized the bravado, he played along. “If you need to, you can use my bathroom. I’ll organize a cab for you.”

  When she nodded, he turned on his heel, leaving her alone. The turned-down bed mocked her as she opened a door into his en suite bathroom. Acres of marble greeted her and enormous mirrors reflected a woman who looked thoroughly confused. Faint whisker burns marred her pink cheeks and her eyes looked overly bright. She also looked aroused.

  Emma splashed cold water on her face and hands, drying them with a fluffy black towel. For a moment she held it against her face, breathing in a hint of leathery aftershave, recognizing Nate’s scent before hastily hanging the towel up.

  Nate wasn’t the first man to kiss her. Why did she feel so tied in knots? Nothing had happened. Once the insurance company had sorted out her van, she wouldn’t have to see him again if she didn’t want to.

  Strange how the idea made her somehow bereft.

  By the time she emerged, she’d regained her composure. Nate was on the phone. In the kitchen she found Joanna putting away groceries. The woman greeted Emma warmly when she went in to pick up her bag. “Your party menu was amazing,” she said. “You know I’m not much of a cook, but I’m tempted to try making some of your dishes, if you’ll part with the recipes?”

  “Of course. Just tell me the ones you want. I’ll give you a few tips for making them, as well.”

  “Thanks, I’d really like to try your meat loaf
. I’d never have believed such a simple dish could taste so mouthwatering.” She glanced toward the den where Nate was giving Emma’s details to the cab company. “Is his lordship still in a foul temper?”

  “He’s touchy—not surprising, given the pain of his injury.”

  “He’s such a bear when he can’t work, and I’m a housekeeper, not a nursemaid.”

  “Can you get some nursing help to spread the load?” Emma asked.

  Joanna shot a dark look toward the den. “If he’d let me. I’m sorry for talking out of turn, Emma. He’s not your problem. I’ve known him long enough. I’ll work something out.”

  Joanna was in her middle forties, still attractive, and devoted to the husband and grown-up son she’d proudly told Emma about when she first showed her the kitchen setup.

  Nate came into the kitchen. “Your cab’s waiting.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be in touch about my things.”

  “No hurry. There’s plenty of room to store them here. Your van as well until the insurance company collects it for repair.”

  Unaware of the strain between Emma and her employer, Joanna gave her a cheery smile. “Don’t forget those recipes.”

  “I won’t. I’ll email them to you.”

  Nate led the way to the circular drive where a cab stood waiting. He opened the door and she got into the backseat. Nothing she wanted to say to him seemed appropriate, so she settled for, “I’ll let you know what’s happening with the van.”

  “Sure.” He closed the door. She wound down the window, but he said nothing more.

  As the cab pulled away, she had to wonder. Nate was whistling “Greensleeves.”

  THURSDAY MORNING, EMMA RETURNED home from delivering a corporate breakfast order to find the car belonging to Doug, the contractor, parked outside. Sophie had some errands to run but had said she’d stay until Doug arrived if Emma was running late. Her car was also gone.

  When Emma went inside, she found him deep in conversation with Mitch Kelso. The designer smiled as she came in. “Hi, Emma, what were you thinking, hiring this crook to work on your kitchen?”

  Doug’s grin made it obvious the two knew each other. “Funny, he said the same about you,” she countered. “Although he said your ideas might be workable.”

  “Barely,” Doug added. “It’s all very well for the prima donnas to create works of art, but us peasants have to make them work in real life.”

  Mitch rolled his eyes. “How’s the inspection going?” Emma asked.

  The corners of Doug’s mouth turned down. “I’m still checking, but you could have a serious problem here.”

  Her heart jumped. “What kind?”

  “Asbestos.” He gestured with a pointed finger. “That wall certainly has it. I’m still checking out the rest.”

  “Which means what?”

  Mitch stepped in. “Under the law, asbestos has to be removed by a professional under strictly regulated conditions.”

  “I’m licensed to do the work,” Doug said. “The tricky part is, once I start the removal process, legally I’m not allowed to stop until I’ve removed all of the contaminated material I find.”

  “But that could involve the whole kitchen.”

  He nodded. “I’m afraid so, love. There’s nothing we can do except cross our fingers that I don’t turn up much more for you to worry about.”

  “Consider them crossed.” Leaving Doug to his inspection, she led Mitch into her office and suggested he sit down. “Nate will have my hide if I let you overdo things. You’re not supposed to be doing any site work.”

  “I’m not. I was driving past and recognized Doug’s vehicle, and stopped to see what he was up to. Gave me a chance to refresh my memory of your layout. I wish you’d reconsider the walk-in pantry. I’ve figured out a way to make the extra room.”

  She’d vetoed the idea last time he raised it, and a chill invaded her again at the idea. “I don’t like closed-in spaces.”

  “Not claustrophobic, are you?”

  “Maybe. I only know I don’t like being in small, dark places.”

  “I can make sure the storage areas have lots of light.”

  She chewed her lip. “You still haven’t told me how much your consultation is costing me. With the asbestos problem, frankly I don’t know if I can afford to have you do more than you’ve already done.”

  Mitch crossed one long leg over the other. “I haven’t done all that much. A few design sketches, some floor plans—no reason to charge for any of it. I’m enjoying the mental exercise.”

  She should feel relieved, but instead, suspicion niggled. “Since when do you work for nothing, Mitch?”

  He looked away. “It’s my choice.”

  “Did Nate put you up to this?” Mitch’s silence was a dead giveaway. “Is he paying you to help me?”

  “He might have thrown a few dollars into the kitty. I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

  Anger flowed through her. “Don’t you two think I can handle my own business?”

  “Nate said you’d react this way if you knew.”

  “Good, I haven’t disappointed you.” She folded her arms. “You didn’t answer my question. Nate did me a favor by introducing me to you. Why does he think he has to do more?”

  Mitch looked uncomfortable. Belatedly, remembering his heart condition, she wondered if she should have waited and asked Nate instead.

  “Nate heard from your mother that things were difficult for you,” Mitch said.

  The hairs on the back of her neck rose. “He heard that from my mother?” Each word came out separately, punctuated by disbelief. Only this morning, Nate had taken pains to convince her he believed in her, respected her. She’d been on the verge of letting him make love to her.

  Her breath whistled out. Thank goodness they’d stopped when they had. Emma had trusted him. Thought he was different from her family. But he was as guilty of patronizing her as any of them.

  Everything was starting to add up. His offer to introduce her to Mitch, the larger than expected check for her services and now this. Nate could hardly have made his low regard for her competence any clearer.

  She pasted a smile on her face. “It’s okay, Mitch, I appreciate your help, but I’ll expect an invoice emailed to me tomorrow. An accurate invoice.”

  He shrugged. “If you say so. What shall I tell Nate?”

  Her smile became sickly sweet. “You don’t have to tell him anything. I’ll do that. In fact, it will be a pleasure.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SHE WAS UPLOADING SOME NEW recipes to her web page when Doug stuck his head around her door. “Got a minute?”

  “Only if it’s good news. Would you like some tea?”

  “Make it black coffee and you’ve got a deal. Never did care for tea.”

  Emma went to the kitchen and made the drinks, knowing she was dragging out the task to avoid facing whatever the contractor had discovered. Asbestos was bad enough, but please God the problem was limited to this room. The kitchen already resembled a building site where Doug had moved things to check behind them.

  Returning to the office, she put the cup in front of him. “I remember you take your coffee unsweetened.”

  He gave her a wide grin. “I’m sweet enough as it is.”

  Her herbal tea was steaming so she set it aside and linked her hands on the desk. “Okay, what did you find out?”

  “First, it’s not as bad as we feared. Only two walls are involved, the one behind the sinks and the adjacent one.”

  He obviously had more to say. “Second?”

  “One wall of your flat is affected. I’ll have to pull out a chunk of the drywall in there, as well.”

  Her mind whirling, she sipped the hot tea to calm herself. She had jobs lined up and she’d need all of them to pay for the work. “Does that mean I’ll have to move out?”

  “I’m afraid so, love. Hopefully it’s only for a few days, but my team will have to seal the building off between the kitchen and your flat.
Put up hazard warning signs, go in wearing protective gear, the whole bit.”

  She’d seen elsewhere how the process was done. Although she was thankful the café part of the building would be unaffected, how would the warning signs impact on the business? It was hardly going to inspire confidence in her food.

  Worrying about what couldn’t be changed was futile. The work had to be done. Once asbestos was found in a building, the law said the surfaces couldn’t be touched in any way, not even painted. Removal was the only option.

  Accepting the inevitable didn’t mean she had to like it. “When can you begin the removal process?”

  “There’s paperwork to be done, legal formalities. But I can get started fairly soon. A job I had scheduled fell through.”

  Lucky me, she thought then chided herself. The builder was trying to help. No sense blaming the messenger. “I’ll need a few days to work something out with my customers, but you can start on the paperwork in the meantime.”

  He drained his cup and stood up. “I like a woman who knows what she wants.”

  When he’d gone, Emma stared at the wall, her mind in turmoil. Yesterday at Nate’s house, she’d thought she knew what she wanted. How wrong she would have been. Given this latest disaster, she wondered if her taste in real estate was as flawed as her taste in men. Should she have bought a different property?

  Second-guessing herself wasn’t going to help. Most of the buildings in Sydney’s inner western suburbs were a hundred or more years old, and nearly all of them would have asbestos somewhere in their construction. The danger of the material wasn’t known until decades after these houses were built.

  Nor could she have known that Nate was playing with her. Assuring her his views weren’t the same as her parents’ was easy to believe because she’d wanted him to be different.

  And just as the asbestos problem couldn’t be wished away, neither could Nate’s interference. She would deal with both problems the same way, by meeting them head-on.

  A fine pickle, Gramma Jessie would call the situation. Emma reached for the phone, tempted to call her grandmother and pour out her heart. Then she pulled her hand back. Burdening her grandmother with her worries when there was nothing the older woman could do was unfair. Better to phone her when she had more positive news to share.